


A Shot In The Dark

by Failing_Physics



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, hero jaskier bc i love him, ive have this idea in my head for AGES, the uploading schedule for this is all over the place so i'm very sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failing_Physics/pseuds/Failing_Physics
Summary: Jaskier's finally succeeded in dragging his Witcher to a party after that disastrous one with the child surprise. But it seems that all of Jaskier's efforts are cursed, as the castle is stormed by sword-wielding rebels who seem very insistent in taking over the kingdom.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

“Remind me again why I’m letting you drag me along to this.”

Geralt’s remark wasn’t a question, but Jaskier answered it as such regardless. 

“You,” he muttered, biting his lip as he tuned the lute on his lap, “are coming with me because this is the King and Queen of the mighty kingdom of Estos and they’ve invited me to sing at their son’s wedding. Are you telling me that you  _ don’t  _ want to get in their good graces? And just think of all the monster-hunting contracts you’ll be getting once all the rich nobles find out who you are!”

“So this has nothing to do with certain rumors that a certain bard slept with one of the princesses last year?”

“Those are baseless accusations! You being big enough to scare away any aggrieved nobles is just an added bonus of course.”

Geralt let out a noise that might have been amusement and Jaskier grinned, giving his lute a triumphant strum. 

“And I’m  _ even  _ letting you bring a sword along.”

Gerald blinked, unimpressed. “I thought you said I could bring two swords and at least two daggers.”

“Gerald, you already look like a walking armoire. Anything else and you’ll look like a full-blown assassin.”

“And I suppose you’re not bringing any weapons. As usual.”

“Fuck no. Ah, I mean, the pen is mightier than the sword. Or at least a sword wielded by me.”

Gerald huffed again and Jaskier just raised his eyebrows before shifting over to a mirror and picked up a dish full of pale powder. Jaskier picked up a brush, meticulously applying the foundation to his cheeks before pausing, reconsidering, and then turning back more fully to the Witcher. Gerald turned away, looking almost embarrassed to be caught watching, but Jaskier merely cocked his head. 

“Are you _ sure _ I can’t just put some foundation on you?”

Geralt just gave him a look and Jaskier sighed.

“ _ Fine.  _ Be like that.” 

____________________

Golden banners fluttered from windows, the vivid colours of the sunset gleamed on polished cobblestone, violins sung from homes and street corners alike. The city of Ington was magnificent, though Jaskier would have expected nothing less from the King and Queen of Estos. He could barely keep the grin from his face as the pair strode along the road that hugged the sea. Children shrieked with delight as they darted about on the golden beach where the town spilled out; seagulls always hovering on the salt-kissed breeze, practically begging for any scraps that were occasionally flung to them. 

It was so perfect that Jaskier was almost certain that the scene had walked right out of one of his ballads. He spread his arms, turning his face up to catch the sun’s last rays as it sunk behind the houses in a blaze of glory.

“Geralt, it’s so  _ beautiful! _ ” 

It looked as if the whole city had turned out in all their finery and for once even the Witcher couldn’t argue. Or, Jaskier realised as he glanced at Geralt, wasn’t listening in the first place. 

“Geralt!”

“Something’s wrong with the city guards.”

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“None of them are wearing any coat of arms at least. And they’re just watching the crowds, not protecting the palace or joining in the festivities.”

Jaskier tensed, impulsively touching his lute as if to make sure it hadn’t been stolen. 

“Are they… criminals?”

“I don’t know. They’re not doing anything actively illegal. There’s one standing by the stall over there -  _ no, don’t look now _ -”

But the bard had already twisted in Geralt’s grip to stare at the woman. With the chainmail and deep blue leather she wore, Jaskier almost brushed her off as another one of the city’s guards. Until he realised that the uniform had none of the city’s insignia on - or any insignia for that matter. She didn’t balk at the bard’s gaze, merely raised an eyebrow, placed a hand on the gleaming blade by her side, and melted into the inky darkness of an alleyway. 

Cursing, Geralt released Jaskier, placing a hand on his own sword and took a step forward, as if he was going to follow her. Jaskier put a hand on his arm on his wrist.

“No you don’t,” he said, tugging the Witcher in the direction of the castle, “We’re going to be late if you do that - and I’m sure the guards’ uniforms have just changed since you were last here. It’s not exactly like they’re gonna suddenly all turn out to be horrible murders.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but once the words were spoken they suddenly seemed cold, heavy even. Jaskier wished he could take them back. But Geralt didn’t seem to notice - or care - staring down the alley for a few more moments before relenting and following Jaskier as they made their way towards the castle.

____________________ 

If there was one thing Jaskier loved in the whole world it was  _ this.  _ Listening to the applause, the cheers of the audience after a flawless performance - Jaskier always felt he must be practically glowing with elation. He gave another deep bow and a grin that felt like it was splitting his cheeks before slinging his lute back over his shoulder. A tankard of ale was offered and accepted, the alcohol only adding to the pleasant buzzing sensation in his veins.

His gaze flickered up to where the royals sat, giving him a polite, but disinterested, applause and his eyes lingered on the prince and his new bride. They had said the couple was young, but what Jaskier had not expected was for neither of them to have even hit their thirteenth birthday. But then that was royalty for you.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Jaskier glanced up at Geralt, grinning. 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to some of my old friends, I’m sure they’d love to meet a real Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier sighed with only half-feigned exasperation and was about to continue with his coercion when something very sharp and  _ very  _ painful struck his arm. Jaskier flinched back, giving a yelp and clutching the skin; abruptly and horribly sober. 

His hand came away red. It took a good second for his frozen brain to comprehend that an arrow had been fired from behind him, catching Jaskier’s arm as it whistled past and striking the -  _ oh gods - _ the King.The King swayed, a patch of crimson blooming across his tunic. He took one unsteady step forward and fell limp, hitting the floor with a thud. Deafening silence crashed down on the room, not a single person daring to take a breath. Then someone screamed.

And suddenly the hall erupted into chaos, people shrieking and running, terror emerging as mayhem. A child was wailing. A woman sat on the floor, head in her hands. Jaskier covered his mouth with his hands as the stench of blood hit him. But it was the resounding crash that snapped Jaskier out of the horrified trance he’d been slipping into. The main doors to the great hall splintered as the crash echoed through the room. Jaskier backed away a step, abruptly becoming aware of someone roughly tugging his arm.

“-askier! Snap out of it! We need to leave  _ right now _ !” Geralt only looked fraction more relieved as the bard spun towards him. 

“What - what’s happening?!”

Geralt looked grim. “It’s a coup. So we need to go. Come  _ on. _ ”

The Witcher tugged Jaskier towards the servants' entrance. Jaskier glanced back only once as the pair vanished down the narrow passageway. The same guards that Geralt had noticed prowling Ington’s streets swarmed the hall, but not to help, the bard realised, as they held the royal family at swordpoint. No, not to help at all.


	2. Chapter 2

They took refuge in a wine cellar. The castle was crawling with those fake guards and it had only taken a few minutes for Jaskier and Geralt to realise that all the exits were either being blocked or monitored. So now the pair were crouching among the dusty bottles, the trembling in Jaskier’s limbs picking up again every time footsteps rang from the hallway. He knew his face must be deathly pale.

“Shit, shit,  _ shit. _ What the  _ hell _ was that?”

“That was a coup. It looks like a rival faction has tried to take over the monarchy and we just happened to be caught up in the middle of it.”

“What - what’s going to happen to everyone in the castle? Are the rebels going to… kill them?”

“I don’t know. The rebels are organised, but they’ve chopped off the head without considering the body. The coup likely won’t last long, but,” he continued seeing Jaskier’s wide-eyed expression, “they are more likely to keep anyone in the castle as hostages.”

Jaskier released a breath, running his hands through his hair. “What about us? Can we escape or - or help them or anything?” Too loud - his voice was too damn loud. Jaskier knew he was spiraling and took another breath, reeling himself back in. “Sorry, I just - we can’t leave them; there are  _ kids  _ in the castle.”

“I know, I know. Our first priority is finding an exit so we  _ can _ help them.” 

“Okay, you’re right, I know you’re right.” 

Jaskier stood, only somewhat unsteadily, and after only a moment’s hesitation, swung the lute off his back and tucked it behind a wine rack. 

“I’ll be back for you,” he muttered, ignoring Geralt’s incredulous look, before making his way over to the door - before pausing and glancing back to the Witcher. “What if… we get caught?”

“I won't let that happen Jaskier." 

Jaskier didn’t respond, but shot Geralt a grateful glance nonetheless. He steeled his nerves, plastering on the mask of bravado that he pulled on before particularly important performances. And then opened the door.

The hallway beyond was mercifully empty, not even a whisper of voices or footsteps to be heard as the bard and the Witcher slipped out of the shadows. Geralt led the way, sword in hand, as the pair snuck through eerily silent corridors and stairways. Jaskier could hardly believe that less than an hour ago the castle had been full of laughter and merriment. Despite his best efforts, the shaking in his hands had started up again.

“Wait - Geralt - look! Over there,” Jaskier hissed, pointing at a glowing light from under a doorway. Almost on impulse, he reached out, pushing it open wider and peering inside. 

He was greeted by the sight of no less than fifty huddled figures, crouching and clearly terrified on the flour-strewn floor of the castle kitchen. So that’s what the rebels had done with the servants.

“ _ Shit _ .” Geralt muttered and Jaskier backed up a step. What the hell were they going to do? Jaskier had counted at least six rebels in there with the servants, but even if Geralt could take on all of them and win, what would happen to the hostages? They’d be killed if the rebels found them wandering around that castle. What if the rebels killed him? What if they killed Geralt? That thought sent Jaskier’s stomach plummeting to his feet. And maybe it made him a horrible coward, but Jaskier stepped back again, almost fully intent on fleeing, but his shoulders hit Geralt’s warm body and the Witcher’s hands found his wrist. 

“Jaskier, you need to calm down, okay? Take a breath.” He ordered, and Jaskier complied, not knowing what else to do, his eyes never leaving Geralts’. “And another one. If you can’t do this, you should go back to the wine cellar. You’ll be safe there until this is all over.”

There was no judgement in Geralt’s words, just frank openness. Jaskier opened his mouth, but an image of the prince and his bride flashed behind his eyes. Hell, they were  _ children.  _ They didn’t deserve to be caught up in this at all; they were probably  _ terrified _ by now. That is, unless they’d been killed already. 

And suddenly Jaskier was silently cursing himself, the realisation that if he left to go cower in the dark and something happened to the hostages, he would never forgive himself hitting him. 

“No,” he said, “No, I’ll be fine.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, just nodded and moved Jaskier behind the door, out of sight of the kitchen. Geralt wasted no time unsheathing his sword and stepping into the room. And by the way the rebels immediately started cursing, the Witcher’s fame had preceded him. Almost instantly there was the crashing of metal against metal as both parties launched into the fight. 

Jaskier bit his lip, hopping from one foot to the other anxiously, before peering round the door, unable to take the suspense of not knowing what was happening any longer than a few seconds. Three of the rebels were already down, either unconscious or dead, Jaskier wasn’t sure that he wanted to know, but the servants hadn’t moved from the floor and with how fearsome Geralt looked as he wove a web of steel around the remaining guards, Jaskier couldn’t blame them. In fact, he almost felt a little intimidated himself.

But it was a clean run from them to the door and Geralt would  _ absolutely  _ murder him if he left the safety of the hallway but…

“Hey!” He hissed, taking as many steps into the kitchen as he dared, “Over here!”

A few of their heads snapped towards him and Jaskier nodded encouragement as he waved them towards the doorway. There were some who shrank back and many more who didn’t move, eyes not leaving the Witcher, as if they suspected some trick. 

“It’s okay! We’re here to help!” 

Again, there was no movement, until a young man about Jaskier’s age slowly stood, a flicker of hope in his eyes. Jaskier’s temper flared as he beheld a nasty cut on the man’s cheek, unmistakably the work of a sword. He grabbed the hand of an older woman and all but dragged her over to Jaskier, keeping low as they hurried between tables. There was a flurry of movement as if he had inspired a sudden confidence, servants rushing towards the door. 

Jaskier moved further into the kitchen, always keenly aware of the sounds of sword fighting behind him, helping the elderly along, or practically carrying those who’d clearly gone into shock. One old man he’d been supporting stopped the bard before they crossed the threshold.

“Listen boy, on the first floor, there’s a statue of a knight with a maiden. The third panel to the left on the wall is a hidden door that leads to the catacombs under the castle. We’ll leave through that - and if you can get there in time, we’ll mark the way out with chalk.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to thank the man, but he’d already hobbled away as fast as he could. Maybe there was a chance of survival after all! The thought gave Jaskier a bolt of energy and he dived back into the kitchen - just as a vicious kick from Geralt sent the last rebel reeling back into Jaskier. 

The bard barely had time to draw another breath, let alone fight back, as the woman recovered, flicking a blade under Jaskier’s chin. 

“Do  _ not  _ move, or your friend here gets it.”

Jaskier froze, realizing with no small amount of horror that this was the same woman Geralt had noticed all those hours ago on the road to the castle. Even the Witcher had paused, watching the rebel with narrowed eyes. But this was not the first time that Jaskier had been cornered with a knife to his throat, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He opted for a glare and snapped:

“What the  _ hell  _ do you think you're doing? Take your hands off me! I was sent to relieve you - do you want me to report you!?” 

And to even Jaskier’s shock, the bluff worked and the woman’s grip slackened in confusion, enough for the bard to blindly reach behind him, not sure what he was fumbling for, but desperately hoping it was usable as a weapon. His fingers closed around cool metal and with no time for hesitation, he drew it forward, slamming the saucepan into the rebel’s head. Silently, she slumped to the ground and Jaskier winced. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding the glance Geralt sent his way. 

The Witcher shook his head. “So you refuse to carry any kind of knife with you, but you’re a crack shot with a saucepan. Who knew.” 

And despite the situation, Jaskier gave a strained grin, “I’m a man of many talents. Listen - Geralt - there’s a secret door on the first floor, the third panel to the left of a statue of a knight and a woman, the servants said they’d mark the way with chalk so we could escape… do you think that we could rescue the rest of the hostages and take them out through there?”

Geralt gave a grim smile, sheathing his sword. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has a plan. Jaskier think its a pretty shit plan but it's a plan nonetheless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, i'm so sorry for the hiatus, but i hope you enjoy the chapter anyway!

Another hallway, another set of empty rooms and Jaskier’s sense of foreboding grew. But since the pair had found and freed the servants, there had been no sign of any of the other hostages, despite the fact they’d thoroughly searched every room they’d come across.

And after defeating the guards in the kitchen, Geralt had donned one of their uniforms, Jaskier absolutely refusing to do the same on the grounds that they were the most hideous thing he’d ever set eyes upon and he wouldn’t be caught dead in them (which, Geralt had helpfully pointed out, Jaskier might be if he didn’t wear them. At this point Jaskier had given a pointed glare and had then proceeded to steadily ignore him). 

But at least the uniform had allowed Geralt to bypass any patrols they found without the Witcher having to draw his sword. Which was always a bonus. Ahead, the sounds of muted talking, raised voices and sobbing grew louder, the noises that the pair had been chasing for the last half an hour. Jaskier paused.

“Ah, Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“How are we going to get a hundred panicking nobles out of the throne room? They’re bound to be loads better defended than the servants and, well, we’re not exactly equipped to go bursting in there, swords flailing.” Jaskier gestured helplessly to the saucepan that was still gripped in his hand from the kitchen fight, “I mean, do you have a plan?”

And for the first time Jaskier had known him, Geralt glanced away, looking uncomfortable. Jaskier frowned.

“Geralt, what are you planning.” It was not a question.

“Well, since you’re still in your civilian clothes, you could pretend to be one of the hostages and infiltrate them.”

The bard just stared at him. “And were you going to tell me about your  _ amazing plan  _ before or after I’d become live bait?!”

Geralt sighed, rubbing his face, “Look Jaskier, it’s a terrible plan yes, but - don’t look at me like that -  _ but,  _ can you think of anything better?”

Jaskier’s frown deepened, and he had half a mind to refuse purely out of spite, before shaking his head, relenting. 

“ _ Fine.  _ I’ll go into the lion’s den of heavily armed and highly trained and professional rebels -”

“ _ Jaskier.  _ You’ll be  _ fine.  _ They wouldn’t dare hurt the most famous poet on the continent. And,” Geralt’s eyes darkened slightly, “if the rebels even hurt a hair on your head, they  _ will  _ regret it.” 

“They’d better not, it took me hours to get my hair right this morning,” but the bard reached out and squeezed Geralt’s hand nonetheless, his pounding heart slowing. Geralt just nodded.

“I’ll be right there at all times. At some point, I’ll cause a distraction - when the rebels are distracted, you take the hostages out of the hall and guide them through the passageways. Do you remember what the old man said?”   


“Yep, it’s the third panel to the left of a statue of a knight and woman on the first floor,” Jaskier murmured, screwing his face up to remember, “but how will I know when you set off the distraction?” 

Geralt just smiled grimly, “Trust me, you’ll know.”

“Hey!” A yell from the other end of the hallway made Jaskier jump, his shot nerves causing him to curse, grabbing his heart.

“Jesus,” he muttered, before turning fully to Geralt, “I guess we’d better get on with this then, huh.”

Geralt gave Jaskier a half-smile, smoothing down the stolen rebel's uniform, before grabbing Jaskier’s arm and turning to the rebel who’d yelled. 

“I found this one wandering the passageways, lost. The idiot must’ve thought he could escape.” Geralt’s voice was harsh and Jaskier cringed, playing his part flawlessly. The rebel sneered at Jaskier’s passiveness - before pausing and turning pale.

“Holy shit, that’s Dandelion - we’ve been trying to find him for hours!”

It’d worked. It’d actually worked. Jaskier could hardly believe it and only a warning glare from the Witcher stopped him from grinning in triumph. 

“Quickly then, bring him through.” The man reached forward, seizing Jaskier’s wrist so hard that his wince was only half-feigned. Geralt stepped backwards.

“I’m going to sweep the grounds again in case there’s any other would-be runaways.”

And then Jaskier was alone, the knowledge that the Witcher was probably still in earshot doing little to sooth his nerves. He was dragged along the smooth stone passageway, a few half-hearted tugs earning the poet a slap so hard that he was still blinking back stars as he was thrown into the throne room. 

_ So much for not harming a hair on my head,  _ Jaskier thought, feeling his cheek flare with pain as he was shoved in the direction of the nobles, royals, and any other poor entertainers and servants unlucky enough to have been caught up in the crossfire; they were all huddled on the floor or perched on benches, softly murmuring to each other as the rebels either side enjoyed the remains of the feast.

And, Jaskier noted with no small amount of dread, the King’s body had been mockingly propped up on his throne.  _ Oh gods, they were so dead.  _ He silently crossed the hall, sliding into a bench next to a man who was positively fuming with barely self-contained rage. But worst of all was the group of children and teenagers all clustered on the ground before him, all either softly sobbing or white with shock.

And Jaskier’s heart cracked a little.

“Did you know,” The poet began in hushed tones, eyes glued to the floor in front of him, “that once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a castle. One night the castle was stormed by soldiers who wanted to kill the king. The boy was so scared and so under the cover of the fighting he managed to escape through the servants passages.” A few heads had turned towards Jaskier. 

“But when he emerged into the night, he realised that everyone in the castle must be ten times as scared as he was. And he realised that he could either help or he could escape. But the boy had friends in the castle so, without a second thought, he snuck back. One by one, he tricked the soldiers and freed his friends until every single hostage in the castle had escaped and was standing outside, safe and happy.”

The people who’d been listening shifted, glancing at each other as if they were all thinking the same thing. But no one dared ask the question. Jaskier’s leg started to bounce the longer that the silence stretched on for. One of the older teenagers shifted closer, and from the lavish clothes she wore Jaskier guessed she was some distant cousin of the royal family. 

“You’re that bard Dandelion aren’t you.”   
Jaskier nodded. “The very one.”

“And you’re also friends with that White Wolf, right? Who was also meant to be at the party, but is not here with us.”

Jaskier could almost see the cogs turning in her mind as she sat back with a small smile, opening her mouth again - and not even Jaskier saw the blow that knocked her forward.

“ _ No talking _ ,” the rebel snapped as the girl picked herself off the ground, blood now matting the back of her head. 

“Hey!” Jaskier was on his feet before he even registered moving, hands in fists by his sides.  _ What the hell am I doing?  _ Nonetheless, his next step was deliberate. 

“Do  _ not  _ touch her.” Another step forward. But this time the rebel also did the same. Jaskier heard a crackle, then with a flash of pain then he was flat on his back, the man standing above him, fingers curled and breathing heavily.

“Stay down,” the rebel muttered, turning away. 

“Ow.  _ Shit. _ ” Jaskier swore, prodding his face and glaring after the rebel with as much ferocity he could manage. Those around him avoided his gaze and Jaskier supposed he couldn’t exactly blame them.

_ Goddamnit Geralt, hurry the hell up.  _ And, as if his thought had summoned the Witcher, there was a subtle cracking noise, a split second later, the magnificent crystal chandelier hanging above the tables, broke from it’s chains and crashed to the ground in a spectacular explosion of flames and glass. 

Jaskier could only hope the rebels directly under it had escaped in time. The candles hanging from the delicate metalwork rolled off, meeting with spilled ale on the tablecloths. There was a moment of silence and then - 

_ Wooomph.  _ Fire roared up and then there was screaming and yelling and chaos. Jaskier jumped to his feet, pain forgotten as he sent a mental thank you to Geralt. He cupped his fingers around his mouth and yelled, 

“Follow me!”

And maybe it was the fact that at least one person was providing control and calm, but heads turned towards him as he grabbed the hands of anyone he could reach and sprinted for the exit. There was shrieking from rebels, but the flames licking up any cloth it could grab ahold of provided the most pressing concern. As Jaskier fled through the charred doors, what basically amounted to a stampede behind him, he grinned up at the white-haired man standing on the balcony above the hall. And before he spread away in the opposite direction, Geralt smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments mean the world to me <3


End file.
